Good Things Come To Those Who Take Them

[Razelle Breuner]

Nar Shaddaa
There were some places in the galaxy that you could always find work, if you could get to them, and if your standards were low enough. The Jedi Order was always accepting new volunteers for the agricorps, and Fondor was such an industrial hive that the only excuse for unemployment was an unwillingness to have your body horribly mangled by heavy machinery. Nar Shaddaa was that for people whose skills were less than legal in other sections of the galaxy. Republic, Alliance, and Techno Union laws forbade the vast majority of what interested the kind of visitors the Smuggler's Moon got.

Naturally, it was heaven for Raz. Or rather, a very tolerable and agreeable hell. She didn't like this planet terribly much, but it suited her exceedingly well. She could always find work and supplies, it was never boring, and easy to disappear in. Most importantly of all, the people there were the wholesome, obviously self-interested and treacherous types. She didn't need to spend time and energy finding out why she shouldn't trust them; they wore it on their sleeves.

A couple of months ago, Razelle had found an extremely lively watering hole called Behni Jex's. The owner, an aging Trandoshan with one bad eye, was not actually called Behni Jex, which Raz had figured he got plenty of questions about. Gathek had noticed her eyes wandering when she first arrived, and engaged in a few well-practiced and strategic questions to figure out whether or not she had a skillset he might have been interested in. When it turned out that she did, he offered Raz a small fee to remember her the next time someone had a problem that needed solving.

In the interim, before the Cater job, Razelle had managed to do maybe a half-dozen jobs for Gathek's friends, at the small cost of a percentage overhead if the job went right. It wasn't at all unlike criminal prostitution, but it kept the work flowing, and a roof over Raz's head. She'd become acquainted with other similarly-talented individuals, as well, which was always nice.

Two hours ago, Raz had been woken up from one of her aberrant bouts of actually getting some sleep. A short comlink wave to come meet Gathek at Jex's. Since she was a bit low on funds, she'd shown up with a lit stim stick in her lips and a neutral jacket with her Woebringer strapped very obviously to the outside. It helped deter street traffic, and since Gathek hadn't yet realized Raz was a covert op, he tended to find work for her that involved bashing skulls more than slitting throats. It helped her profit margins to play to the clientele.

The renegade clone pulled up a chair at the slightly out-of-the-way table Gathek had sat down at. "John here yet? Or am I early?"

 

[Alndys]

Although she had little issues taking a life, Tara knew that she wasn't particularly skilled at the art. It was messy, usually frantic, and often hard to prepare for, which made it something she didn't feel particularly inclined to seek out. Natural-born spy or not, she had more important things to do. Or HAD more important things to do. Jacen Cavill had taken her identity, her memory, and manipulated what was left like one might tune an engine. To say that Tara was embarking on a one-woman quest to destroy his legacy and Blas-tec would be an exaggeration... but it was on her to-do list, absolutely.

For now, she was almost broke and without a lab. The two were closely related. She'd spent weeks making contacts in Nar Shadda, following rumors and getting the lay of the land. It wasn't especially hard, to be honest. By knowing who was who didn't help you accrue funds, and even if she knew some swingers, Tara couldn't afford the cream of the hired muscle crop. Enter Gathek, who had an abundance of talent without enough credit. I'd taken some doing, but she'd ingratiated herself with him and pulled together enough funding to hire a shootyperson to handle the wetwork - and from the looks of the blonde chatting Gathek up, 'wetwork' was the right term. In a world that runneth over with dumb muscle and towering brutes, a thing like her was either wielding the Force, or had long learned to be quick, accurate, and quiet.

And since she wasn't showing any of the characteristic idiocy of a Force user... well.

Gathek exchanged a brief, professional greeting with his associate, before gesturing Tara over. Metal leg clanking quietly, dressed like a former executive would expect a space criminal to dress, carrying an obvious blaster on her hip - And a less obvious one under her jacket - Tara did as she was bid and approached. "I'm John." She answered curtly, taking a seat at the table, both hands in sight as a courtesy. Some people learned to hide their misdeeds and nature, but everything about Tara was a lie; from her 'i don't know what I'm doing' designer clothing to the polite, slightly nervous smile she fed Razelle. "You come highly recommended, you know." Another lie - Gathek couldn't afford to show favor to one of his people, given how the others might react.

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Two weapons. Heavy jackets weren't used for anything else on this planet. Hands visible meant that she was either intentionally trying to set Raz at ease, or that she simply didn't know any better. Prosthetic leg, right side. Well-maintained, by the lack of sound when it moves. This woman either knows what she's doing with it, or she's wealthy enough to pay for someone who knows what they're doing. No haughty demeanor, though her smile is forced. Raz's eyes gave her a second once-over to verify. Her clothes were a careful reproduction of exactly what an underworlder would think a silver spoon kid would assume to be a good underworld disguise. Carefully tailored to look authentic.

Far too authentic.

Her hands above the table was an attempt to get Razelle to lower her guard, which, given how many lies and inconsistencies the paranoid little clone had already picked up on, might have been a trap. She kept her right arm below the table, ready to draw her heavy blaster at a moment's notice. The other rested elbow-first on the tabletop, bracing her chin on her palm. Raz responded with a raised eyebrow. "Hm." No commentary. Not in front of Gathek. He hadn't earned the full breadth of her abilities yet, and she didn't trust him not to send her on suicide runs if he found out.

Enough. Discuss the job. "Ms. John, I'm afraid my friend here didn't tell me much about this job. I don't like walking in blind. The more information I have, the better I'll be able to do my job." She didn't expect 100% transparency. No one was ever on the level on this planet. Or on any other, come to think of it.

 

[Alndys]

"Well, strictly speaking, I'd simply like to hire you as a bodyguard." Tara explained, keeping her hands on the table. Yes, she could get pumped full of photons at any moment if the grizzly little mercenary didn't like what she heard. No, it wouldn't likely kill her. It'd still be unpleasant, though. Tara followed that up with a slightly sheepish smile, as if to apologize for being out of her depth or treading where she aught not be - which was to say, the underbelly of a criminal hub. Lies, lies. "Granted, I'm asking you to guard me while I do something slightly dangerous where I am not supposed to be." She confessed, drumming her fingers 'nervously'.

Tara glanced to Gethak, who looked supremely disinterested in whatever was going on, though she had no doubt that he was retaining every detail. Likely trying to ensure he got a proper cut of the action. Tara wasn't sure yet if she planned on paying that cut. Sure, he could put a bounty on her, spread her face around Nar Shadaa - wouldn't really stop her from returning if she felt like it. "It is imperative that we exercise a level of...discretion, during this job. If you feel you're not capable of such a thing, I'll continue looking." Tara explained, lowering her voice the slightest bit.

She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. "What I mean to do, is sneak aboard a ship that will be docking here in a couple of days, and sabotage it's hyperdrive in transit." Tara explained quietly. "Once the vessel has been commandeered, I'll be able to take what I need from it. The rest of the cargo will be sold, and the ship itself dismantled - all in all, for a hefty sum."

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Her mannerisms were off. Like they had been rehearsed. Raz was extremely familiar with that. It had taken a long time for her own affectations to evolve into being a little more natural, and even then, acting to an audience of actors was difficult. It was one of the reasons Imperial Intelligence Central had been one of the most honest places in the galaxy. If everyone knew when you were lying, why waste your breath and the time of internal affairs?

So, what kind of motivation could she have for lying about this one, if Razelle was going to be right there with her the whole time? It might well have been a trap, and if it wasn't, that would leave Raz's eyes sharp for no real reason. That might have been why, actually. If she had nothing to hide, acting like she had something to hide to make her merc paranoid would enhance awareness and keep her safer. A cunning little strategy. If it turned out this job was on the level, Raz would be pretty impressed.

"I can handle it," she replied simply, then pumped for some more information. "Sabotaging the hyperdrive while we're on the ship and in hyperspace sounds pretty risky. What's our exit strategy?" She left a few things out, like 'what are we going to do with the crew.' It was implied that by the end of the job, there would only be two people on that ship. However many corpses were left made very little difference.

 

[Alndys]

"One of the containers on the freighter was contracted by a small-time shell corp I retain control of." Tara explained, sitting back with her arms folded loosely. "It has been marked as a biological waste hazard, being taken for specialized nullification and incineration at a facility in the Outer Rim. We will be aboard that container, along with an escape pod should those already on the fighter prove difficult to access." If nothing else, a container allegedly containing azidoazide azide could expect to be left the hell alone by anyone with half a brain and a little experience with dangerous chemicals. They sure as hell wouldn't bounce it.

Tara gave the pimp - err, employment specialist - a wary, worried smile. "Of course, I will be in the container with your woman the whole time." She promised. The inference was that her own life was being offered as collateral. If Tara turned colours or tried to rat, the blonde would be in a prime position to put a bullet in her and claim the prize alone. Look at me, I'm just a poor naive client, assuming that the blonde or Gethak wouldn't just kill me either way to claim the loot for themselves.

Tara carefully folded her real leg over the false one, pursing her lips. "I expect the crew to number no more than fifteen or twenty - but while the cargo container I've contracted is shielded, there isn't much room for more than two people and the pod." She explained possibly. "Which is why a level of discretion is required."

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Finally Ms. John relaxed, and for once it wasn't a practiced motion. This was the first bit of her Razelle was actually seeing. Extrapolating from her technical knowledge and her understanding of how underworld minds worked, she was likely a professional engineer who'd been screwed by the company, or possibly a much bigger rival company had put her out of business. This wasn't a targeted raid, though. She hadn't mentioned any company names. If she found any information to the contrary on the ship, then it was probably a revenge hit. More likely, though, that she was in much the same position as Raz, herself. Losing everything had the effect of making one desperate to gain a foothold somewhere.

The common ground managed to draw something resembling a grin out of the steel-eyed little merc. "I'm not shy of getting cozy. Not bad, Ms. John," she responded simply, cutting off the silent Trandoshan before he could be any quieter. Raz passed a small chip across the table. "This is my contact information and an abbreviated list of current equipment. Send me a date, time, and location. I'll be there. If you have anything else to discuss, my channel's open."

Standing from the table, she nodded to Gathek, then to the human(oid) woman. She left without another word, though not without keeping herself aware of what was happening behind her. If this had been a setup, this would have been the time to shoot her, but it was pretty unlikely by this point. If it was a trap, the client would wait until they were alone later, on the ship or afterwards. Not in a public place, and not without squeezing a few more credits out of her catch.

 

[Alndys]

Arguing with Gathek was, as far as Tara was concerned, a waste of her time and energy. If nothing else, the greedy cred-grubbing only convinced Tara that this short-sighted creature had reached the end of it's worth to her and would be lucky to see a cut of the action. Whatever amount of goods they managed to get off of the freighter, the real payoff was going to be in data - And, more privately, the generous insurance policies taken out on Tara's cargo along with SH's paid-out fee for losing her 'very important, very dangerous' shipment. Insurance scams were not original, nor were they unheard of, but hey! Ships disappeared in space all the time, even along the Mara Corridor. Once she'd settled on a 'reasonable' fee for Gethak based upon her honest estimation of the ship's material assets only, Tara excused herself and left the bar. An hour later, her mercenary was sent coordinates to a once-profitable pharmaceutical warehouse that had since taken to storing and shipping actual legal chemicals on behalf of third parties.

Once in awhile, legal paid more.

Tara was already there, performing a last-minute inspection of the cargo container. White coat, business clothing, it felt good to be dressed like a professional again. Even if that original garb wasn't going to last very long - she'd have plenty of time to get changed in transit. Most of the warehouse, thanks to the costs of living employees, was entirely automated - And security wasn't so tight. She'd used places like these to skip off the top during her time at Blas-Tec. Tara circled the large, roughly rectangular container with a critical eye - checking the sensors, the filters and seals, while she waited for her hired gun to arrive so they could start the show.

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Well that was fast! Certainly not the couple of days that she'd been told earlier. Raz was still on her way back to her apartment - her real apartment - when she got the message. She immediately turned for the safehouse to retrieve a bit of quiet ops gear. Door. Datapad. Armory. There was no reason for her to show up looking like she was going to rob the place, so Raz grabbed a combat vest that looked like something "professional" security personnel would wear and strapped a blaster where it would be easily visible.

To add to her standard go bag - datapad, smoke grenades, survival kit, and other usuals - she tossed in her equally standard infiltration kit. Security blades, a fusion cutter, sonic and pressure charges, an ascension gun, and several other little bits and bobs to make it easier to get into places she wasn't supposed to be. Since they were going to be on a ship, she tossed in a Retaliator scattergun and called it a day. Any more firepower or range would have been completely unnecessary or dangerous in close quarters.

It took her about fifteen minutes to get ready, another twenty to get to the location described. She could have cut five minutes off of that if she'd taken a taxi from directly outside her safehouse, but that would sort of destroy the "safe" part of the equation. She was probably on time, at any rate. Ships were normally docked for hours at a time for refueling and shore leave business.

Raz arrived at the...pharmacy? Huh. Raz arrived at the rendezvous and looked around for her contact. Ms. John was hanging out by a container of something mechanical, so the unstable clone marched up like a security worker, combat boots notably not squeaking on contact with the floor of the warehouse. "Ma'am."

 

[Alndys]

"Good timing." Tara replied briskly, glancing briefly up from her inspection. "Our itinerary got bumped up a bit - terribly unprofessional. My apologies." It was fairly honest, too. The hurry had grated on her nerves quite a bit, too. A plan had been made, and the timetable being moved up had interfered with that plan. Hadn't derailed it, but even a little disturbance could cause an avalanche of misfortune. "Thankfully, things seem to be in order."

After signaling to the drones that the container had passed her inspection, Tara opened a small, secret hatch in the side of the reinforced vessel and motioned Razelle inside. "Hurry - don't want a record of us climbing in." She hadn't been lying about a tight fit - with the escape pod taking up the bulk of the container, there was only a few square feet of space, most of which was occupied by a rack holding a blaster rifle, a change of clothes, breathing equipment and a combat vest, presumably for Tara's own use. Once they were both inside, Tara sealed up the container and flicked on the pod's interior lights so they wouldn't be sitting in the dark.

"From here out, we wait." Tara explained, slipping her shoes off and hanging her coat on the rack. "Once we're in transit, I'll get an automated notification. Then we wait an hour or two to emerge." The angular woman added with a small gesture to her datapad, sitting on one of the seats of the pod. "We're bring shipped on a Pathfinder-class, if you'd like to look over the schematics."

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Raz ducked in and tossed her own bag into one tiny corner. She'd have not a lot to do over the next whenever, so she figured it might be a good time to get some rest. In all honesty, the broken little gene-baby was more used to sleeping on ships than anything else, since smoking anything tended to be a very bad idea in a controlled atmosphere. Without the stim sticks she relied on to stay awake for unhealthy amounts of time, sleep debt caught up with her.

So instead of smoking, she set about talking. "S'alright. I kinda expected something to go tits-up." She grinned, her extremely inhuman eyes taking a catlike sheen in the poor lighting of the compartment. "Not a bad plan at all, for your first time, but it's not that surprising that there were things you didn't account for. Mechanics aren't generally trained in planning heists."

With a shrug, she leaned back and rested her head on her hands. And ponytail. "No big deal. I got a little rushed putting things together, so I might have missed some niche picks, but I've got the basics, and usually we can make do." Her voice hadn't raised above a trained whisper the whole time.

 

[Alndys]

Tara, having personally seen to the container's fidelity herself, didn't bother to whisper. Not even their heat signatures would escape the shipping container. The mercenary could shoot her dead right now with the loudest gun she owned, and nobody would be the wiser. "I'm a bit more experienced in white-collar lawbreaking, to be sure." Tara mused thoughtfully, before adding in a shrug. She was no stranger to a gun or blaster. She just generally didn't need to bother.

Tara couldn't help but wonder where the mercenary had gotten her eyes, too, and if they'd interfered with a normal life at all. Like a face tattoo. Open weirdness.

Nothing to do but get comfortable - the gratuitous changing-onto-combat gear scene could come later, there was no sense in sitting sitting for a couple of hours in a skintight suit with a strange woman. With apparently nothing more to say on the topic of her profession (What a simplistic term for art) being deducted, Tara slipped past Razelle and climbed into the escape pod, so she could at least kick her feet up and travel while sitting in a padded seat. "Perhaps it is a jinx, but I don't anticipate much trouble." She added thoughtfully.

 

[Razelle Breuner]

Raz shook her head. "Always expect trouble, princess." Leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her knees, Raz held up a hand to start counting off things that could go wrong. "The captain figured that setting down on Nar Shaddaa posed a security risk, so he added some professional guards to the crew. Our shipping container gets scanned with something you weren't prepared for, and we get jettisoned and shot with laser cannons from a hundred meters into the black. They try to open it as part of a random check, find it's locked, and get someone to pry the top before we even get onto the ship. One of the crew has a bad blaster, its power pack goes up in flames, and the blast ruptures the hull, venting the whole ship into space."

She leaned back a bit, raising a second hand when necessary to continue the count. "One of the crew didn't realize he was a freak Jedi, and has an awakening in the middle of our boarding action. The ship picked up some last-minute cargo that happened to include some weird animals neither one of us has ever seen before. The compression line is faulty and blows the engine room before we exit Nar Shaddaa's orbit, and we wind up crashing back down into the Red Sector..."

She shook her head and smiled. "None of those things are likely, but all of them are entirely possible. The plan always needs to have a backup for when something unexpected happens, and a second backup for when something unexpected happens during the backup plan." She returned to a more relaxed position. "Plan A through C is basic stuff. I've run with a couple of guys who had everything up to Plan G prepared, just in case."

 

[Alndys]

"Getting our itenerary pushed forward has already sent us crashing through to Plan M." Tara replied in a tone that was nearly terse but not quite. She settled into her seat and frowned at her datapad, as though the weight of her disapproval would make the routing information accelerate though time to a point where she and Razelle could get this nonsense done. Ridiculous, of course, but Tara had always hated waiting. Now, on the beginning stages of her elaborate plans of revenge, waiting was even less acceptable. She wanted to get going, she needed to get this done. And unless Razelle had more to say, Tara was entirely happy being silent for the bulk of the trip. With one exception - ten minutes later, she spoke up with. "We've been loaded."

Of course they hadn't felt a thing. The chemical that this container was supposed to be carrying was hilariously volatile, prone to exploding at the slightest bump or flash of light. It wasn't wonderflonium, but it still should not be bounced.

Some time later, Tara stood and started undressing. She wasn't selfconcious about it - just us girls here - and one could hardly consider 'business casual' a good uniform for executing a hopefully-stealth operation. As the tall woman slipped into a body sleeve, she looked over her shoulder at Razelle. "I'll be following your lead when it comes to combat. But without instruction, I'll take the left side whenever you cover right." She explained - better to get what would be otherwise unspoken things out in the air, since they hadn't worked together long enough to develop good habits. Once she was zipped up, Tara stepped into a pair of combat boots and began lacing. "We'll be close to the hyperdrive from the Cargo bay, and the Pathfinder class has notoriously-tuned engines. A simple wrench aught to be enough to lock them up, but once we're in there, I'd rather seal the room and work on a more thorough shutdown." Pull laces, tight boots, good to go.

Tara shrugged into a combat vest and picked her blaster off of the wall, checking the settings on the rifle briefly. "Low crew means it'll be easy to commandeer the whole vessel - but if they have more crew, or stronger resistance than we've anticipated, I'm going to set explosives to breech the ship while I get what I need from the vessel's internal servers. I'll warn you before I do so." As if to illustrate what should be done, Tara pulled a mask over her face, along with a rebreather left to hang around her neck. "In five minutes, we go on your mark. Let's make some money." And a point.